Delusion
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Draco knows they got over it. It's just that Malfoys lie and he lies to himself too, sometimes, so it's hard to see what's real and what's not, and even if he pretends it doesn't hurt, he cannot help but wonder if it was ever even over to begin with.


**Delusion**

**AN: there is no excuse for this.**

**WARNING: M for mentions of sex.**

It is of no use. Draco knows this just as well. They have broken up, so this is not-done.

He knew it was for the best. He had no illusions to the fact that they were just no good for each other. They clashed constantly, and love wasn't supposed to be one big fighting mess. He could never really blame Ron for calling it quits – after all, the man wasn't known for his patience. He wanted nice and easy, and that wasn't something Draco could give him.

Draco didn't mind the fight that much, he supposed. They'd always fought, he didn't see why this would be any different. But he could vaguely – _maybe,maybemaybe if he tried hard enough_ – understand how the life of flying vases and spilled profanities wasn't cut out for just anyone.

It had no future to begin with, Draco supposed. They were always hiding and covering up. Things like that were bound not to last.

He'd gotten over it.

He told himself he got over it.

Malfoys lie.

When he told himself it had no use, he knew that that wasn't a lie. It was self-preservation. They could not go down that road again, because they knew where it ended, and it would be messy. He did not need to be dumped again, because that did no good for his self-esteem and he wouldn't have it.

He attended the Weasley's wedding with some reservation, to say the least. He worked with Granger at the ministry of magic sometimes, her medical area of expertise certainly coming in handy when he had gotten himself sliced-up during one of his missions.

He hadn't seen Weasley since he had been kicked out of his bed, naked at three in the morning. He had always known not to mess with a sleepy Weasley, and maybe he had pushed it too far, but it had been over and though maybe – _justateenytinnybit_ – he hurt, it had been a sort of relief as well. Now that they had that, Draco did no longer need to fear the day it would all come to an end.

Nothing really mattered anymore, now that Ron wasn't there to make it matter.

The next day he read in the papers that the Weasley had left to play a game in Australia, and he knew it was for the better. He couldn't even remember if they ever even talked. He was no sentimental fool, but he knew just as well that sex without talking is just sex, and _just sex_ is not a relationship.

It had been a nice wedding, Draco supposed. Granger looked happy enough, Weasley looked proud, Potter looked relieved, everything was as it should be.

He had planned on not letting Ron know he was there, and instead offering Granger his congratulations before excusing himself. In his haste to come up with any sort of plan between dressing himself and going over his papers, he had forgotten Granger was marrying the Weasley, which meant they would be basically connected by the hip the entire time.

Draco figured that if he waited long enough, Weasley would need the bathroom sooner or later, and he could take his leave then. This plan, he decided, was even more genius than the original one.

It was shot down dead when he was at the bar waiting for his drink, and Granger was behind him suddenly, calling his name.

"Draco! I'm so glad you could make it," when he turned around he smiled and he didn't mean to, but she didn't know that.

She was holding Weasley's hand, the man's eyes wide. He fixed only on her – just so he wouldn't have to look Ron in the eye, but he didn't admit this, even to himself – giving her a gentle once-over.

"Did you like the ceremony?" she questioned eagerly, her smile radiant.

"Ah, yes," he let his voice flow smooth, because he was still a Malfoy – a single certainty he still had, "it was very nice."

"Thank you," she tugged at Ron's hand as if to urge him into conversation, "and the food?"

"Good too," Draco laughed, steady but false, "I was just going to look for you, I need to go, I was just going to congratulate you and leave."

"Oh, won't you stay a little longer?" she set a hand on his arm with a pout, but he didn't like her, and it wasn't about to change any time soon, "We haven't even gotten to our dance yet!"

"I _am_ sorry, I need to finish some papers," he gulped down his drink in one go, "very important and all that. It was nice seeing you, you look good."

He shook her hand heartedly – _fakeitlikeyoumadeit_ – before turning to leave.

He didn't grant the Weasley a single look, and was very proud he had managed.

Now that he is naked in bed with the redhead, he doesn't exactly remember whether or not he has had any reason to be proud. For all he knows his mind was jumbled and he has begged the Weasley to leave with him.

The fact that Ron is in his bed indicates that somewhere along the line they made a gruesome mistake, one way or another. He thinks all of this and much more in a single split second because then there is that indescribable feeling – _thatpulltugbreak_ – and he's sheathing Ron just perfectly which means he can never let go. There is a _thumpthuckthump_ sound and his bed collides with the wall as he is fucked raw and maybe it hurts but perhaps – _perhapsmaybesometimes_ – it feels good too, and it does not matter because it's there and that's it.

Ron does that thing where he snaps his hips with breakneck speed as if being inside completely –_totallyalltheway_ – is the only thing of any importance. There is a vague slapping sound, and something best described as slurping and if Draco was anywhere near caring he might have been embarrassed, but he cannot really care when Ron is grunting on top of him, sweaty bangs to sweaty forehead and his damp lips against Draco's damp skin.

Draco thinks this might be perfection, but then maybe it's always been.

When he's coming his hips are twitching but he's relentless and keeps on moving, and it's hot and long and _sodamnmuch_ Draco wonders if Granger has ever been with him like this because it's too much, much more than before and it's _good_.

He feels somewhere between exhausted and exhilarated and full.

He knows it has no use, really. They've broken up and gotten over it. They've moved on, that's what people call it. They've moved on.

Part of Draco doubts it, though, because he isn't the marrying type but he knows that married men are not supposed to spend their wedding night in other men's bedrooms. That's not how it goes.

But Ron has that look of determination that says they are nowhere near finished, and maybe he doesn't want to be finished, because staying there and just doing _this_, forever, seems suddenly very appealing.

And then Ron's in his mouth and he tastes so good and maybe he's being used as a mere means to release some tension but it's nice so all he does is take him deeper and with it he swallows the guilt away and that is fine. In reality he swallows something different and it tastes fucking gorgeous.

When he wakes up he can smell Ron on the pillow and he can taste him on his lips and feel him in his body but he knows it's in vain.

The bed is empty as it should be, because Ron is not his. They moved on.

He turns and pretends it doesn't hurt, and then he sees Ron's wedding ring on the bedside table and he hears that the shower is running.

He told himself they got over it.

But Malfoys lie.

He wonders if they ever really did.

**AN: that was weird and ugh. But I like this sort of openness, a sort of... mind of my own. Fill it in however you wish. It's just strange.**


End file.
